Chapter 12 Bliss
Tristan
Tristan was floating.
It was extraordinary, a feeling, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He felt no pain, his skin tingled and buzzed with energy, his mind was blank, free of any worries, and his only thoughts — more like impressions — radiated warmth, satisfaction and serenity.
Bliss.
Cade's body still crushed him as he basked in the afterglow of the longest, most euphoric orgasm of his life. This man had given him the dicking down of his life, then kissed him gently and told him he was perfect.
Hell, it was enough to make someone fall in love.
When the comforting weight lifted from his chest, the pressure that had grounded him vanished, and he resented the loss, feeling untethered without it. A tissue swiped across his stomach, fingers brushed the hair from his forehead, and he heard that voice, somehow close but also far away.
"Tristan, do you want to get cleaned up? Take a bath or shower?"
When he scrunched his face up in concentration, Cade softly chuckled and then tried again in a soft, coaxing voice, "Tris? Do you want to take a bath?"
He tried to pry his eyelids open, but they felt like lead weights, and his tongue lay heavy and numb, making speech impossible.
He moved to hold out his hand, to reach for Cade, but it only twitched and fell to his side.
Warm fingers found his, and as they moved across his palm, the gentle touch unraveled him and made his chest ache in ways he couldn't explain.
"Do you want to go to sleep?"
His brows inched together as he internally rejected that idea. He wanted a bath but needed Cade beside him, providing the connection he still craved.
"Do you want to take a bath then? It will feel nice."
Grunting softly, he dipped his head.
"Okay, I'll go run it."
When Cade rose to leave, Tristan clutched his hand tightly, not wanting to be left alone, but a velvety voice assured him, "I'll be right back."
He reluctantly let go and experienced a vague sense of unease without Cade's presence to anchor him. Relief bloomed when he heard footsteps approaching the bed again.
"It's ready. Can you walk to the bathroom?"
Wanting as much physical contact as possible, Tristan shook his head, and Cade sighed before hoisting his boneless body into his arms like a rag doll. The feel of hot skin comforted him, and he nuzzled his face against one strong shoulder, inhaling the musky scent.
When Cade set him down on unsteady legs next to the claw-foot tub, he slit his eyes open, shielding them from the bright.
"Can you climb in yourself?"
Reaching an unsteady hand to grip Cade's muscled forearm, he rasped, "You."
"You want me to help you in?"
Shaking his head, Tristan hoped he could silently telegraph his need for closeness when words failed him.
"You want me to get in with you?"
Tristan nodded, relieved that the other man finally understood what he wanted. Cade slipped his arm around his waist and guided him into the tub. The hot water soothed but paled in comparison to the pleasure of a warm, firm body sliding in behind him and enveloping him in thick, strong arms.
Melting against the mass of muscles, he exhaled slowly as lips grazed his temple in a barely-there kiss.
This was paradise.
The scent of soap filled his nostrils as Cade lathered it over Tristan's stomach and down his arms and legs, gently skimming over the bruises on his skin. When that hand dipped down between his legs, he couldn't help but let out a contented sigh.
Steamy warmth filled the room, and occasionally, lips brushed across his cheek or ear as Cade worked silently to wash his body.
As Tristan became more coherent, he realized the gentle caresses felt a lot like tenderness, and his heart fluttered in his chest. Despite the brain fog, he recognized he was foolishly developing feelings for this man, but pushed the thoughts aside, determined to enjoy the intimate moment and not wish for something he couldn't have.
He had no sense of how long he remained in that foggy state between sleepy oblivion and awareness, but it was so calm and peaceful that he regularly hummed with satisfaction, grateful for the comfort of the hot water, the clean scent of soap, and the hard body to lean on.
As Tristan wafted back to reality, the first thing he noticed was the cooling of the bath water, followed by the sensation of dull aches all over his body, then the deep, intense need for sleep.
Cade whispered in his ear. "I think we should get out, okay?"
"Mmm."
"Can you stand?"
Tristan reluctantly blinked open his eyes, balking at the harsh lights. "I think so," he answered, his voice gruff.
"Be careful."
Standing and carefully stepping onto the rug, Tristan dried himself with a fluffy white towel while his gaze raked over Cade's toned body, strong and sleek and dripping with water.
A vague desire to lick off those drops bloomed, but quickly fizzled, because exhaustion was dragging him under.
As if the admission caused a physical reaction, he swayed on his feet, and Cade quickly wrapped a towel around his own waist — sadly obscuring Tristan's view — and steered him toward the toilet.
"Sit. You're about to fall over."
"I'm tired," he complained without his typical sass.
"I know. Let me get you some painkillers, then you can sleep."
The attentiveness led to another surge of affection, but Tristan clapped down the train of thought, telling himself that Cade was only acting nice because it was expected when you just marked and choked and fucked someone.
Not that he knew for sure, but he guessed.
After pulling ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and handing him two pills and a glass of tap water, Cade walked behind Tristan as he shuffled to the bed, dropped his towel and climbed under the sheets. When a blanket settled over him, he reached out a hand. "Will you lay down with me? Please?"
Tristan realized he sounded needy and perhaps unreasonably clingy, but his body still craved Cade's touch. While he was definitely more coherent, his emotions still rattled, and he wanted Cade next to him to help him settle and sleep.
Emotion flickered across the other man's face, but it vanished too quickly for him to process in his weary state. When Cade climbed into the bed, Tristan scooted closer, hesitated, but then asked, "Will you hold me?"
After the briefest of pauses, Cade lifted his arm, and Tristan snuggled in, cheek to shoulder, leg hitched over a thigh, fingers weaving through dark chest hair.
A soft sigh of contentment escaped, and his weary eyelids drifted shut.
He felt a soft kiss on his forehead and then the bridge of his nose, which made his heart stammer again.
He felt safe, protected.
And he slept.
Tristan inched toward wakefulness after a long nap, and as he teetered on the edge of sleep, memories from earlier in the day wafted into his consciousness, so fantastic they seemed more like impressions from a dream.
A fabulous, first-rate, A-plus dream. Ten out of ten stars, highly recommend.
However, the soreness prickling throughout his body proved very real, as he clocked pain in multiple places.
His ass stung, his puffy nipples throbbed, several spots on his neck and the insides of his thighs smarted, and his shoulders ached like he'd been carrying a backpack full of bowling balls.
Not the greatest feeling, Tristan conceded, but given what caused it, he had no regrets.
He remembered how the strong hand around his neck had aroused rather than frightened him, recalled the moment his lungs began to burn, when he couldn't stand it anymore, and Cade released his throat.
White spots had blotted his vision, and the tremors of his orgasm had tumbled over him like tidal waves, crashing again and again.
Cade had said Tristan would never think of anyone else after he fucked him.
He was right.
Stretching out an arm to reach for his bedmate, Tristan felt his hand slide over cold sheets.
Disappointed, he rolled onto his back and peeled his eyes open to see Cade sitting in a kitchen chair, scrolling through his phone with his feet propped up on the bed, exuding, as always, confidence and a dangerous, edgy quality that Tristan found deeply attractive.
The man was a puzzle he couldn't quite decipher, full of contradictions, hiding pieces of himself, and he suspected, masking vulnerability behind that tough-guy exterior.
Even though Cade killed and tortured bad guys, he treated Tristan with respect, concern, even tenderness, so Tristan knew in his heart that Cade wasn't an evil person and that he'd never hurt someone who didn't deserve it … or agree to it, he thought dryly.
Remembering how he allowed, or maybe begged, Cade to choke and mark him circled his mind right back to the mind-blowing sex.
Except … did Cade think it had been that good?
Doubt clawed at him as he wondered if his impression of the scene was one-sided. What if he wasn't exciting or experienced enough for someone like Cade, who had an apparently exhilarating sex life and a job where he routinely faced life-and-death situations?
A soft "Hey" from the other man interrupted Tristan's pondering.
"Hey," he answered, offering a small smile as Cade rose from the chair and sat beside him on the bed.
"How are you feeling?"
"Okay, a little sore."
"You can't take more painkillers for another hour or so."
The attentiveness spurred another rush of warmth through him, and he realized that he really enjoyed being cared for like this.
"How long was I asleep?"
"About three hours."
"Oh, wow. Okay." A few heartbeats passed as he searched for a smooth, casual transition to the discussion he wanted to have, but when the words finally materialized, they were a lame, "How are you?"
Dark eyebrows inched closer. "Me? Fine. Why?"
"I don't know. I just thought maybe we should talk about what happened."
"Did I do something you weren't comfortable with?" Cade rushed to say, his face fraught with concern. "You could have used your safe …"
"No, no, it's not like that," Tristan blurted. "Everything was fine. Good. Amazing, actually. I just thought we should talk, like, in general."
"You always want to talk," was the grumpy, mumbled reply.
"And you never do."
It was clear the other man was not going to react beyond a pointed glare, so Tristan probed further. "Was it … I mean, how was it for you?"
Features softening, Cade admitted in a low, raspy voice, "It was perfect."
Tristan flushed as he remembered hearing the words while incoherent with lust, and emboldened by the admission, asked, "Do you want to do it again?" at the same time Cade said, "We probably shouldn't do it again."
"What?" they both said in unison.
"Why should we not do it again?" Tristan demanded as his heart plummeted.
"I don't know. Because I should be doing my job. Protecting you. This isn't professional."
"Are there ethical guidelines for vigilante assassins, then?" he couldn't help but quip.
"Shut up."
He studied Cade's clenched jaw, angled away from him, clearly tense with worry.
"You are protecting me. I'm safe here. You said you liked it, and so did I. We're both consenting adults. What's the problem?"
"I don't know," Cade hedged, unable or unwilling to articulate his concerns.
A hint of shame clogged Tristan's throat as he struggled with the apparent rejection.
Even though he didn't agree with them, he tried to understand and accept his protector's reservations about his breach of professionalism, but a familiar, ugly feeling of not being good enough squeezed his chest. Tamping down the sting of insecurity, he mentally shook himself with a reminder that he was a mature adult who could handle being turned down.
"Well, if you don't want to do it again, that's fine, but if you change your mind, I'm game."
"Okay, but Tris, we're not going to be here forever. We could get a lead on your sister any time now."
The words crashed over Tristan like an icy wave, and he flinched, disgusted with himself.
What kind of self-absorbed asshole was so invested in his next dicking-down that he would set aside his sister's plight so callously?
He was. He was the self-absorbed asshole.
The self-recrimination crushed his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Guilt burned hot in his gut, followed by worry and helplessness over Natalie, and confusion about his feelings for Cade.
He dropped his face into his hands, trying to calm his suddenly queasy stomach and make sense of the dizzying deluge of emotions, but they swirled like leaves in the wind, and he couldn't latch onto any of them.
"What's wrong?" Cade asked, his voice laced with concern, his warm, rough hand stroking the bare skin of Tristan's back, calming and considerate. The gesture made him want to cry, from both anger at himself and affection for the man next to him.
"It's just … my sister. And this whole situation. And also, I like you."
The hand on his back stilled, and Tristan immediately regretted the stupid, na?ve admission. Why did he have to make things complicated by talking about feelings? When had that ever worked out well for him?
Exactly never.
Keeping his face buried in his hands to hide his rising blush, he scrambled for a way out of this hole he'd dug.
After several silent seconds, Cade spoke, his words hesitant and stilted.
"I know you're worried about Natalie, but we're doing all we can.
Annabeth will find something. It just takes time. "
Believing that, at least, Tristan nodded as he prayed Cade would ignore his other words, but that hope fractured when the other man spoke again.
"About the other thing …"
"Please, just forget I said anything," he begged, his voice cracking from the mortification that joined his growing jumble of emotions.
"What? Why?"
"I just … I don't want to talk about it now, okay?"
"You? Don't want to talk?" Cade sounded incredulous.
He could appreciate the irony but didn't acknowledge it. Unwilling to meet the probing gaze he could feel burning into him, he croaked, "Please just forget it. It's nothing."
The hand on his back dropped away, and he realized his words were callous and hurtful. Another wave of guilt layered over the first, until he felt suffocated by it, unable to think clearly enough to fix the mess he'd created.
After a few heavy beats passed, Cade said woodenly, "Okay, I'll make some dinner," just before his weight lifted from the bed, and his footsteps retreated.
Tristan sucked in several deep breaths, then straightened his spine. Summoning all the mental fortitude he could manage, he boxed up his tangle of emotions, maybe not so neatly, but well enough for now.
There would be time to unpack them all when this nightmare was over.